Never say I don't wait until the last minute. :P
Title: The Collision of Your KissAuthor: Ze_DragonPairing: Gerard/Patrick (sorta kinda); Gerard/Pete; Gerard/Bob; Pete/Patrick (and oddly enough the only really explicit one, huh) Wow… Gerard kinda gets around apparentlyRating: PG-13 except for the epilogue which is totally NC-17…Summary: It used to be "reach out and touch someone" unless that person's phone number is nowhere to be found. Could also just be a huge conspiracy, but that sounds sort of conceited…Notes: A follow-up to I'm at this old hotel, but can't tell if I've been breathing or sleeping which I wrote for femmequixotic's birthday. This fic was not beta'd either sadly because I suck like that and it needs to be posted TODAY… so, yeah. I suck. We all already know this and I'm banking on Femme being all happy about going to MCR that she'll forgive me. :P

1. The case of the disappearing phone number

Gerard loved coffee. There was nothing that it couldn't cure, even the depressing hunt for a house. He didn't actually want a house, that was something that grown-ups had, and as much as he said he was a grown-up, right now, at this moment he didn't want to be one. Not a penny will I pinch. I'll never grow a mustache, or a fraction of an inch.

It was as good a mantra as any, really. Especially since that was the only bit he could remember.

Besides mustaches only belonged on the Killers.

Clutching his latte in one hand, Gerard walked out of the Starbucks. One of the perks of being home in Jersey was that he could get his own damn coffee.

The bad part about being home in Jersey was that everyone went their own way for days at a time. Except for Bob. Bob went his own way back in Chicago.

He should talk Bob into going halfsies in this house search. They could buy it together. With the profits from Bob's solo project that he was going to produce that their fans reminded them of at every possible opportunity.

What could be more egotistical than producing a record of songs about himself?

Possibly inviting one of the best singers he's heard in a while to guest on an album without running it by his band mates first. He'd really been taken to task for that. Not that they minded Patrick singing on the record; they all liked Patrick and were all for it, but what had possessed Gerard was the question.

He was still trying to figure that one out himself.

Hopefully it was something beyond fascination and the desire to kiss the man again. With or without his life partner watching. Actually, Gerard thought, he'd probably like having Pete watch them. It had been exhilarating at the hotel. As long as it didn't end with him having a black eye since that would rather blow.

Pulling his sidekick out of his pocket, Gerard started flipping through his contacts. He should probably message Patrick and tell him he hadn't forgotten about the deal. It'd been a while.

There was no contact information for Patrick at all. No phone number, no AIM, no email. What the fuck!

There was no helping it. He'd have to ask someone for Patrick's contact info.

*

"Dinner over here isn't so bad, is it?"

Gerard debated the potential answers. "You're not going to poison me, are you?"

"Hey!" Mikey sat down next to him on the couch.

"It's as good a question as why you haven't burnt the place down yet." Gerard leaned forward and grabbed his coffee. "Alicia knows you like to take electronics into the bathroom with you, right?"

"You've only told me every time you've visited us since we moved in together." Alicia's voice drifted in from the kitchen where she was supposedly cooking something.

"It bears repeating." He slung back. "Did I ever tell you the time—" Mikey tackled Gerard on the sofa.

"I don't know what story you were about to tell, but you can stop it right now because I'm sure that it's embarrassing and unnecessary."

"You take all the fun out of being your brother." Gerard pushed Mikey off of him and sat up. "The coffee almost spilled." Gerard set his mug carefully on the table in front of him again.

"That would have been bad."

The brothers nodded.

"Hey, Mikey, I was wondering…"

"What?"

"Could I get Patrick's number off you. I don't have it."

"Patrick? Patrick Stump? Pete's Patrick?"

"He's Fall Out Boy's Patrick too. Do we have to define him by his relationship with Pete?" Gerard sipped at his coffee and looked at his brother over the rim.

Mikey was running his hands through his hair, flakes of product floating down in the air in front of him. "Yes. Because they're PeteandPatrick."

Sighing, Gerard slouched down further on the sofa. "Doesn't stop you from giving me his number."

"Why do you want it?"

"Uh… Um… the record thing. I want him to sing on it, remember?"

"Yeah, we all agreed that we wouldn't talk about that until you got your shit together. Have you found a house, yet?"

"No. Bob didn't want to go halfsies."

"I can't believe that you actually asked him."

"Though he did say that he'd let me produce his solo project. We're in negotiations with Skeleton Crew."

*

It took Gerard three days to realize that when he left Mikey's he still was not in possession of Patrick's phone number.

Damn Mikey.

The thing with Mikey was that he was his best friend and when they sat down and started talking the topics went all over the place and didn't stay in one place for long, so it was really easy to distract him. Really fucking easy.

And until they'd sat down and started eating, Gerard had almost forgotten that Mikey was now his married best friend and brother.

He had definitely forgotten to remind Mikey about Patrick's number.

Though maybe Frank had it. That would be quicker all things considered since he was walking up the path to Frank's.

The door swung open before he even knocked. It was awesome having best friends that knew what he was about to do even before he did.

"Hey," Frank said.

"Hey." Gerard followed him into the living room, shutting the door behind him.

"You and Bob figure out when you want to go into the studio?"

"You're actually going to sign him?"

Frank shrugged and threw himself onto the couch. "Hey, if you guys want to do this, then whatever, I'm for it. You're two of my best friends. Besides, it'll be a limited release that I guarantee will sell out. Even if it sucks."

Gerard laughed. "You have no faith in us."

"You've got a drummer. That's about it. A drummer that isn't drumming and is doing the vocals…" Frank paused. "I take it back. The thing is going to rock. The Almost."

"Yeah. We have a title for the first single. 'Heart Burn'."

Frank picked up his guitar and started strumming. The sound made Gerard want to write, want to start creating again. He loved making music. "Dude, I might want to guest on that track," Frank said, and Gerard could make out the melody already.

"Who am I to stop you? Bob won't."

Frank's head was moving in time to the music. The creative itch was getting worse. Gerard was going to lock himself in his basement when he got home and draw. He still had two parts of the Umbrella Academy story arc to work on; he'd agreed to draw a short arc while on break. It was something that he'd wanted to do since Dark Horse picked up the comic but that he'd never had time to do before.

This break gave him the time to do it, and he hoped he would get it done soon because he was starting to have ideas about the next record.

"So, I think I've got an idea for the song that Patrick should guest on. I even have an idea for a riff that I wanted to run by you—"

"Your shit together?"

Gerard sighed. "You've been talking to Mikey."

"Damn it, Gee, you needed this break maybe more than any of us. You were willing to let us all do our own thing when we needed to. Sending Mikey on his honeymoon like the good older brother you are. Looking the other way when I needed to come back to Jersey for a few days mid tour. Taking all the shit that happened during the cursed tour and rolling with it and there was a lot of shit that happened. Not saying anything when Jamia and I eloped—"

"Yeah, still fucking pissed about that."

"No, you're not. But, Gee, you never got a break and that almost broke you. So sorry if we agreed that we weren't going back into the studio until you got your headspace sorted. Buy the house. Get the Umbrella Academy settled because it'll be a fucking shame if that comic falls under because I know where you plan on taking it. The world won't know what it's missing."

"I need to write."

"So write, but don't push the music. Skylines and Turnstiles, baby. You know how to play a guitar. When it comes, it comes."

"So now wouldn't be a good time to ask for Patrick's number?"

"Dude, I pestered Keith Moore in a fucking convenience store until he wrote down his number. He was going to go into diabetic shock or some shit. If you want someone to guest on the record, you need to get their fucking number yourself. Lazy ass."

*

"You're not actually looking for a house in Chicago."

"I like how that is a statement and not a question. What, don't want me nearby?" Gerard smiled at Bob and grabbed the coffee he was offering. "My friend. My comrade."

"What do you want, Gerard?"

"You've been signed to Skeleton Crew."

"Yeah, Frank called and let me know. Are we actually going to do this?"

Gerard laughed. "Why not. It'll be fun. And when we do the video, I was thinking that there should be lots of fire since you know the song will be called heart burn."

"Only if we're putting you behind the drums. In the middle of the fire. I mean the middle."

Gerard sat down. He'd been writing in the basement back in Jersey. A lot. He hadn't actually come out for over a week after talking to Frank. The music was all right, but only one of the songs were coming together in a way that he liked and would be willing to show his band mates. Now he was behind with the Umbrella Academy and he really needed to do something about that.

But more than he needed to work on the Umbrella Academy, he needed to get Patrick's number. That number was really becoming a rather unhealthy obsession with him.

"Look, if I volunteer to let you set me on fire in your first video can I ask you a question?"

"You want Patrick Stump's number. Yeah, don't have it."

"Fuck. Mikey got to you too?"

"No, really, I don't have it. When I heard that you were looking for it, I checked the 'kick, but I didn't either. I can't really figure out how that's possible, but it is. Have you tried Ray?"

"He offered me Brendon Urie's, and I don't want to know why."

Bob laughed. "Well, Panic is theatrical and we do like being theatrical in this band. Maybe he thought it'd be a consolation prize?"

"Yeah, not one that I'm looking for, though. This blows. I promised the kid that I'd call him."

Bob grabbed his drumsticks and started drumming a beat. It'd go well with the melody that Frank had been strumming. "Really?"

"Frank wants to play guitar on Heart Burn," Gerard said. "Not in so many words. It was more a silent agreement as he was being dragged off by Pete, but it would be… I need to get in touch with him. The inability to do so is driving me a bit crazy."

"Well, I'd take you over to their haunts, but they're still on tour."

"I know. I actually was coming out here to see if you've come up with anymore songs."

"Yeah, I have one about how you're a hermit and it drives me insane because I want to get to know you better but you're never around. I think I might call it that, too. And one called 'Love Stinks' about Warped Tour."

"I think I hate you."

"Hey, that's a good song title!"

*

"Maybe we should take pity on him."

Mikey shook his head. "Tough love! He needs tough love!"

Frank laughed. "There is something up with you."

"Maybe." Mikey glanced out the window. "Gee's still in Chicago with Bob. Supposedly he's getting back next week. Called to tell me that Gerardopoly was coming along fairly well, and that they've found a guitarist that Bob used to play with. Alicia headed out there to play bass the day after they asked. It's kind of funny that they're actually going to do this."

"That guitarist better not be writing music for Heart Burn because I have a fucking kick ass riff that I'm going to lay for that song."

"You're all insane."

"You should guest vocal. Write a song about your brother creeping in on your territory."

Mikey started. "What?"

"Yeah, you can write a song about how you're scared Gee is going to mack on your ex. You don't have to mention that said ex is Pete, everyone will figure it out anyway."

Mikey just stared at Frank. He had to be joking.

"Call it Mack Daddy Gee. I'll even talk to Bob about it." Frank pulled out his 'kick and started typing something fast on the keys. The message was sent by the time Mikey's brain kicked in and he had dove to grab the phone out of Frank's hand.

"Fuck. Asshole!"

"But look at it this way, Mikey, now you're part of Gerardopoly. Don't tell me that it wasn't getting to you. I think the only person that doesn't give a fuck is Ray and that's because it's not serious music, and he's all about real music."

Frank tilted his head to the side. "That's part of it, I know it is. There's more though, and I'll just have to beat you until you tell me." Frank pulled Mikey's arms until they were behind his back and he was straddling him. Mikey, for his part, didn't give in easily. He twisted himself until they fell off the couch and rolled into the coffee table.

"Oof! Goddamn it, how can someone as short as you be so fucking heavy."

"It's the dick. Weighs a ton." Frank pushed his hips into Mikey's. "Don't let it fucking get to you; what happens, happens."

Mikey pulled Frank down and pressed their lips together. "I'm nominating you for new band spiritual advisor." Anything to forget about being jealous of his own fucking brother.

*

Gerard ripped the piece of paper from his sketchbook and crumpled it. The character design for the psudeovillian of this arc was not supposed to resemble Patrick Stump. Pete, maybe, but Patrick, no.

That was what he kept drawing, though, complete with the hat. He was becoming transparent in his obsessions. He usually was, but in this he didn't want to be because it just made everything so much more difficult.

Like texting his brother for the fiftieth time asking for Pete or Patrick's number. He'd sunk so low as to start asking for Pete's number figuring that wouldn't be as hard to get from Mikey, but apparently that was the wrong thing to ask.

Mikey's response had been a text back saying he'd see him in Chicago after the basement show since he was going to be laying the track for Mack Daddy Gee.

Gerard was going to kill Frank for putting that idea into Mikey's head.

When the phone rang, Gerard was still staring at a new blank page in his notebook trying to figure out the pose for the piece he was working on. He ignored it like he always did because his basement shared the same line as the rest of the house. The basement door creaked open.

"Gerard, it's Brian and Craig."

"Yeah, I got it." He reached over and grabbed the handset. It was so strange holding a real phone in his hand when for years it'd been almost exclusively his sidekick. "Hey. My cell off?"

"You got it. We wanted to discuss the record."

Gerard sucked in a deep breath. "Yeah, I haven't found a house yet if you couldn't tell by being able to reach me at my mom's."

"Is that a prerequisite to discussing the new record?" Craig's voice had tinge of laughter in it.

"Supposedly. The rest of the band says I need to get the house first. It's supposed to demonstrate that I've gotten my head screwed on."

"Yeah, we can't have you misplacing that." Brian sighed. "You all right, Gerard?"

I've entered into a power struggle with my brother involving a phone number which may or may not be for a hook up with the current lover of his ex and is therefore wigging Mikey out, and for the first time in a long while I find myself not being a supportive older brother like I'm supposed to be, did not seem like a good answer to Brian's question.

"Yeah, you just caught me in the middle of working on the Umbrella Academy. I'm behind schedule. This is up there with the house hunt for things that must be finished before I'm allowed to discuss the new record. You can call Ray and Mikey and Bob and Frank for confirmation on that. It was their idea."

"Yeah, we had a feeling. You all still going to do that basement show?"

Gerard nodded and then answered. He tended to talk with his whole body even when he was on the phone. "Of course. In a few days, then it's back to Chicago to lay some more tracks on Gerardopoly. The producing thing sort of rocks."

"You'll send me a copy, right?" More laughter coming from Craig.

"You can count on it."

*

2. Laryngitis, the panacea. Or not.

"He hasn't said a word all morning."

Mikey and Frank looked at each other and then back at the Way brothers' mom.

"Um, all right," Mikey said.

"And he didn't want any coffee when he got up."

"Tell me he at least smoked a cigarette."

Donna shook her head. "Just grabbed a bottle of water and headed back downstairs."

"It's the curse," Mikey whispered. "It's gotten to Gerard again. And the tour is over!"

"It's that fuckin' phone number that's gotten to him. He called Jamia last night; she said he sounded all weird."

There was a knock on the kitchen door, and Mikey and Frank watched as Donna let Ray and Bob in. Ray looked like shit.

"We're fucked," was all he said before leading the rest of the band downstairs into the basement.

Gerard was sitting on the bed still dressed in the pjs that he'd worn the night before. This wasn't a rare occurrence for Gerard especially when he was playing the hermit. He looked like he was twelve. It was the hair. Whenever he grew it out longer, he looked younger. The red-rimmed eyes weren't helping matters in the looking his age department either.

Frank couldn't help himself. "Don't go all emo on us, Gee."

Gerard opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It looked like a "Fuck you" though.

"He can't talk. We're fucked." Bob sighed.

"That means he can't sing at the show tonight. Fuck."

Gerard grabbed his sketchbook and a sharpie from where they were at the foot of his bed. THANKS FOR THE UPDATE, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS was quickly scribbled on a sheet of paper before he ripped it out and crunching it into a ball, lobbed it at his brother's head.

"At least we're performing under a different name..."

"That's going to help us how, exactly?" Frank replied. "I'm sure enough people already know that the Super Sonic Death Monkeys are us in disguise."

"We'll have to cancel." Ray moaned.

"It's the only way. We can't go on without a lead singer." Bob added.

Gerard, for his silent part, was madly scribbling in the sketchbook again. He'd have no pages in this one left when everything was said (or not said) and done. He folded this ripped out sheet into a quick paper airplane and sent it flying toward Ray.

Frank and Bob read over his shoulder while Mikey went to sit next to his brother on the bed. Gerard rested his head on Mikey's shoulder and sighed.

"We can't fucking fill in for you, you moron."

Ray continued where Frank left off. "Just because we sing the back-up vocals doesn't mean we can do the whole thing. Jesus."

Mikey watched as Gerard scribbled a new note. FINE, ASSHOLES, BE THAT WAY. CALL P. STUMP.

Mikey almost wanted to hit Gerard, but refrained. If this was all a ploy to get Patrick's number he was going to wreck such vengeance on his brother Gerard would have to write a whole new album on the subject.

"Do you honestly think he'd fill in for you?"

Gerard nodded.

Mikey said, "Oh," and everyone looked at him. "What? Can't a guy randomly have weird shit come out of his mouth?" The looks continued. "Shut up."

"It's too late. Maybe if you came down with this yesterday, but today. Even if he's in Chicago it'd take too much time for him to fly out here. We go on in a matter of hours."

"I'll call Brian." Ray pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial as he took the stairs back up to the kitchen.

Frank headed toward the door that lead to the outside stairs. "I'll take care of the venue. This blows."

Bob didn't want to think of the number of favors he owed by the end of the day. It wasn't really that many, but any favor owed was one too many. There were all sorts of debts in the world.

Eventually, he called Branden and was able to get through that way. It wasn't exactly cheating since Branden wasn't with The Used anymore, and they all got on fairly well with Branden still.

Bob better than the rest of My Chem obviously.

"I don't have it, but I can hook you up with Bill's and he's got Pete's at least."

"How is it that no one in the world has Patrick fucking Stump's phone number?"

"Are you really having that much trouble getting it? I'd think that Mikey would be able to give you Patrick's."

"Mikey is being a twat. But you didn't hear that from me. He usually isn't, but right now, fuck I just want to throttle him. Though he's being an awesome brother momentarily."

"So he's an awesome twat. That's funny. Yeah. So anyway call Bill and he should be able to get you Pete's and then if Pete doesn't have Patrick's I'll eat shit."

Bob laughed. "At the rate I'm going, you might have to."

Number in hand, Bob quickly dialed it and after a few moments with Bill had Pete's. That was relatively painless. It probably helped that Gabe was over as Bob could hear his voice in the background.

When he tossed the number at Gerard the next morning, he could have fucking lit a Christmas tree for the smile he got.

*

In the grand scheme of things, Gerard decided, coming down with a week long case of laryngitis wasn't the worse thing that could happen. All in all it was less painful than a nasty bout of salmonella poisoning.

If he was lucky – which he rarely was, but there was always a chance – this would be the last of The Curse of the Black Parade.

He really needed to get his shit together so they could record the next album and put this last tour behind them.

There was an order in his head of things that needed to be taken care of and somehow getting in touch with Patrick Stump had climbed it's way very nearly to the top.

As soon as his voice was somewhat back to normal, he pulled out the 'kick and dialed the number that somehow Bob had gotten him

God bless Bob Bryar replaced Pete's ringback in Gerard's head. It was kind of a poppy tune in comparison to the Clash that was actually playing. Actually, God Bless Bob Bryar would make a good song musically. He'd have to remember the tune for when he was actually allowed to work on the next record.

The lyrics, well, Gerard didn't think that Bob would appreciate them so much, and they were kind of lacking in a message other than one of egotistical selfishness.

The ringback cut off and was replaced with a voice. "What's up?"

"Hey." Gerard flinched; his voice was still all scratchy and sounded awful. It was a good thing he wasn't expected to sing in the immediate future.

"You sound like shit, Gerard." Was it really at all surprising that Pete knew his number and therefore who was calling him? Not really.

He laughed. "Yeah, I'm risking what's left of my voice to call you."

"Really? I'm honored." There was something off with Pete, Gerard could sense it, but he couldn't figure out what was giving Pete an edge. He was usually more… well more. "Of course you have an ulterior motive."

Gerard grinned. Trust Pete to cut through the shit. "Well, yeah, I need to get Patrick's number. I thought I had it, but I don't."

There was a terse "Fuck off" followed by a click that had Gerard looking at his Sidekick stupidly for a minute as it counted by the seconds until it disconnected.

All right, that was unexpected. What the hell did I do? was all he could think before deciding to call back.

"Hello?"

"Look, Pete, that might have come out wrong. Maybe, I don't know. I thought that you wanted me to call Patrick?"

Awkward silence.

"You know, about the record."

"Yeah, you're pretty good with your excuses. Just fuck off."

The phone clicked again, but this time Gerard wasn't going to call back. There were other ways to approach the situation.

*

3. The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You

House hunting in L.A. was so much stranger than house hunting on the east coast. It was a good thing that Bob was willing to go with him in the grand scheme of things because if he didn't have company he'd probably have bought the first house that he saw just to end the whole thing.

Bob was right, though, and the house didn't have enough northern exposure, so the light was all wrong in any of the rooms that would have sufficed for a workroom.

The third house of the day had good light, but was completely unacceptable if he wanted to be able to "revert to hermit like habits" as Bob said. It was much too open for him. Gerard agreed.

Three was Gerard's limit, and he put a stop to the showings and asked for another few to be lined up tomorrow. The realtor, used to Hollywood Types, just nodded and drove them back to the hotel.

"Ok, why am I looking for a house out here again?"

Bob chuckled and opened the door to the lobby of the hotel. "Well, you always said that you wanted to move out here, and at least it puts you on the same coast as Dark Horse."

"There's that." Gerard pushed the button at the elevator that would take them to their room. Even though they could afford it, why waste the money if they could double up. "I'm heading over to Pete's tonight. Want to come?"

Sighing Bob shook his head as Gerard headed into the bathroom. "Yeah, I can call it 'Flying across country to watch you hook up (with someone that is not me)'," he muttered.

"What?" Gerard muttered around his toothbrush.

"Oh, nothing. I just suck at titles. What about Airports and Hotel Rooms?"

Gerard ducked back into the bathroom. "That could be interesting. But it has to include the lyrics 'Just the two of us'."

*

Gerard wondered what Mikey would think of how well he listened as he walked up the driveway to Pete's front door carrying a box of cupcakes procured from Sprinkles bakery.

He'd probably moan about how if Gerard was going to use the information he shared for nefarious purposes then it would have been better if Gerard had just feigned complete indifference in his life.

So it was probably a good thing that Mikey didn't know.

Gerard rang the bell and waited.

It took longer than expected for the door to crack open, and when it did, Gerard was only able to catch a glimpse of long dirty blond hair before it snapped shut again. Thirty seconds after that, however, the door opened again, and Gerard realized that the long dirty blond hair belonged to Andy.

"Hey, Pete around? I bring a peace offering." Gerard held out the box.

"Awesome." Andy grabbed the box. "Yeah, he said you could come in. He's moping." Andy's voice dropped to a whisper. "It's been hell since he and Patrick split up."

"What?" That was very unexpected news.

Andy shook his head and led Gerard outside. "There are cupcakes!"

Quite a few people were outside around the Jacuzzi. It wasn't quite what Gerard had envisioned when he decided to pay Pete a visit.

"I didn't realize there was a party going on."

"No party, we're just all hanging out," Joe said as he stuffed most of a cupcake into his mouth. His words didn't come out quite that clear, but Gerard was sure that he'd gotten the gist of them.

Pete pulled himself out of the hot tub and grabbed a towel to run over his face. "So what brings you here? I have no idea where Patrick is and I don't care as long as he makes it to the next show."

Gerard swallowed. Unlike the cupcakes, his plan had really been half-baked. "House hunting."

"In L.A.? I always thought that home was Jersey."

"Not so much. Figured I'd stop by and find out if you had any house hunting in L.A. tips for me. Since you've done it."

"Over the internet as much as possible." Pete leaned forward and grabbed a cupcake from the box. "Though that could be dangerous for you. I hear that internet phobia is a killer."

*

Running a hand through his hair, Gerard looked around Pete's room. "You know, I could have waited downstairs. Not a big—"

"I don't care, man." Pete grabbed a hoodie off the rack and slid his arms into it. "We've all been on tour. You know how it is. Hell, I've woken up on your bus before."

Gerard glanced away and out the window. That was when Pete and Mikey had had their PeteandMikey "thing" and he had pretended that none of it had ever happened. He turned back to Pete who was looking through a rack of jeans. As it was, he only had a pair of boxer briefs and a hoodie on. Gerard could see the thorns circling low on his neck.

Something about this whole situation was making him uncomfortable.

"So, you serious about asking Patrick to guest on the new album? I thought you weren't even going there yet."

"Well, we're not. Not right now, anyway." Pete turned away from the line of jeans and sank onto the side of the bed. "About the record. Not about Patrick. Yeah, I wouldn't joke about asking someone to guest on the record. None of us would."

"So Mikey said." Pete's hair was falling into his eyes and he was frowning.

"He would know." Gerard shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans. They were baggy and hung low on his hips and were much more comfortable than what he'd wear on tour so of course they would have the added effect of making him feel extremely out of place anywhere in Pete's house. "Yeah, um, maybe I should—"

"No. I said it's cool. You can't just leave when things get a little awkward. Awkward is the best part." Pete was standing again. Standing much closer than Gerard expected. "It's where things get messy. I think life is best when it's messy. It's real then."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Really. You know, I don't think that Mikey—"

"He tied the knot, and has Frank around for when he forgets that he did so. And Patrick left me. Left me, Gee. If that's not awkward and messy, nothing is."

It occurred to Gerard later as Pete's lips were running down his chest, sucking here and there, that this whole thing was a very bad idea and that it would lead to very bad consequences where his brother and Patrick were concerned, but it was Pete fucking Wentz's lips and Pete fucking Wentz's hands and Pete fucking Wentz's words.

Gerard could admit that he was always a sucker for words. Even when they used him and sought revenge through him. Revenge was never something that Gerard didn't understand.

*

Bob was still up when Gerard walked into their hotel room sometime in the middle of the night. He didn't say anything, just turned back to whatever movie he was watching. It looked like one of those awful ones that appeared on basic cable and only watched by insomniacs and people waiting up for someone.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Bob shrugged.

"Pete has a nice place. Didn't really offer any help on the house front, though."

"Were you able to talk to Patrick?"

"No. They had a falling out. A bad one. Patrick's in Chicago." Gerard sat down next to Bob and fixated his eyes on the television as well. Some woman was being chased down a hotel hallway by a guy with a knife. There was potential.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah."

As they sat there in silence, Gerard could feel Bob relax next to him. For some reason that didn't stop him from opening his mouth again. "I think we should get them back together."

"What?"

"Pete and Patrick. I mean I'm sure they'll do so on their own, but it couldn't hurt to speed up the process. Besides we have some of the final mixing to do in Chicago anyway at the end of the week."

"Yeah. You forget that you still don't have Patrick's number?"

"Fuck."

*

4. Gerardopoly

Nothing could stop them now. The music and lyrics were circling through Gerard's head as he ignored Andy's ringback.

"Leave a message."

"Andy, it's Gerard. I heard that you were back in Chicago and we were wondering if you'd like to come out to a small show that we're putting on. Well, Bob is putting on. Just a bunch of friends really. It's for his solo project. You know, the joke one. Anyway, I still have your number from the house hunt in L.A., but I can't seem to find Joe's or the rest of the guys, so if you could ask 'em to come along as well..." Gerard rambled on leaving the name of the small club they'd rented out for the night and the time before ending the call on his 'kick and walking back into the hotel suite from the balcony.

"You get a hold of him?"

"Left a message." Gerard plopped down on the couch next to his brother and rested his head on Mikey's shoulder. "It's all good, really. It'll work out, right?"

"Well, Pete said he might show up. If he gets into town on time. His plane was delayed."

"See, that's even better because then Patrick will definitely show up because he'll think that Pete can't make it and then they'll both be there."

Mikey leaned his head against Gerard's. "If you say so. Personally, I'm only helping because Bob asked. We must always do what Bob Bryar asks."

"Well, he's Bob."

It was quiet for a moment before Mikey spoke again. "Gee, do you ever think that maybe you and Bob—"

The door opened distracting Gerard from whatever Mikey had been about to say. Frank bounded in and tumbled onto the couch across both their laps. "It's all set. Soundcheck was amazing. You know, I think that we might have the makings of a cult hit on our hands. I know we're just goofing around, but really, the whole thing has promise and if Bob can pull off the live show – with our help because you know how he is in front of crowds—"

"Frankie's turned into quite the entrepreneur, Gerard."

The three of them laughed. It was the first time that Gerard really had such carefree fun in a while.

*

"That was a dirty trick, Gee, and you know it."

His glass of Diet Coke in hand, Gerard turned toward Pete. "What?"

He tilted his chin toward the opposite wall where Patrick was talking to Ray and Bob.

"Oh, yeah, I told Andy to invite the rest of the guys, but I didn't realize that Patrick would come. I thought he was in New York. Sorry about that."

Pete narrowed his eyes and looked back and forth between Patrick and Gerard. "He didn't even say hello."

Gerard couldn't help it when his eyebrows lifted at the news. "What the fuck happened?"

"Fuck if I know. I tried to figure it out while talking to Mikey, but nothing seemed to make any sense."

"Then you were probably being a dick."

Pete didn't say anything.

"Maybe if you apologized?"

If Pete was going to say anything to that, he never got the chance because Mikey came up.

"So, what did you think?"

"Patrick's here."

"Oh. Well, I don't suppose I'll be telling Bob your opinion then since you don't have one. Good thing you're safe from saying anything since Bob would never ask. I don't think that I've seen anyone that nervous besides Gerard and I the first time we had to get on stage."

"He hates me, Mikey."

"No, I'm really sure that he doesn't."

Gerard watched the exchange. It fascinated him how all these tough layers kind of just fell away as Pete talked to Mikey.

"Just stop doing stupid things."

Gerard kept his opinion to himself on just how probable it was for Pete to stop doing stupid thing. After all, he knew just how well that never worked from personal experience.

*

The rest of the night fluctuated between Gerard watching Pete and Patrick circle around each other and wanting to go back to his hotel room like a hermit. He finally settled on the latter sometime after Pete pushed up next to Patrick and whispered in his ear something that made the younger man smile.

While he didn't mind them making up – since it really was for the best all around – and had in fact orchestrated getting them both in the same room tonight, he didn't actually want to witness just how far they made up.

It was some sort of strange jealousy thing going on. He didn't want either of them all to himself, really, but he wouldn't have minded either of them.

He slid his key into the slot and waited for it the little light to turn green before pushing down the handle and stumbling into the room. His sketchbook was still open on the desk and his pencils spread out around it. He really should put them back in their case, maybe even in order this time, but he wouldn't. He never did.

The villain was leaping across the page in light blue lines while Spaceboy's torso floated in the air with his hands situated on what would be his hips. It was going to be a two-page spread right in the middle of the issue. In fact, he should really work on it. Get the rest of Spaceboy fleshed out and add in the Horror and the Séance before sketching out the background and inking the whole thing. It would take him most of the night and would have the added benefit of distracting him from his rather fucked up and non-existent sex life.

He was inking the Umbrella Academy symbol on the Séance's neck when the sound of a knock on his door jarred him out of his drawing trance. Glancing over at the requisite clock on the nightstand that all hotel rooms had didn't reveal the time since it was blinking 12:00 in bright red light. Gerard sighed and went to answer the door anyway. Pete and Patrick were standing there without a micrometer of space between them. If they had come to thank him, Gerard was slamming the door in their faces.

Pete took the initiative to push past him when Gerard didn't say anything and headed over to the chair that Gerard had just vacated. He lounged back, stretching his legs out in front of him and grinned.

"Hey, Gerard. Heard you've been trying to get in touch with me."

Gerard just nodded as Patrick entered his hotel room as well.

"You wanted to talk about the new album, right?"

Pete snickered. "Sure he does. Gerard Way's motives for getting in touch with you are completely innocent." Pete pulled a plastic square from his pocket and sent it flying toward Gerard. "Completely innocent. Right?"

Gerard caught it against his chest and he didn't even need to look down to know that Pete had thrown a condom at him. "I get it, Pete. Hands off, Patrick. You didn't need to come here to tell me."

"Yeah, I don't think that he was, really." Patrick shook his head. "You see, it would have to have been Pete's idea to come here if he wanted to do that, and it wasn't Pete's idea."

Sinking down onto the edge of the bed seemed to be Gerard's best bet for not losing his footing. The whole situation had moved into the realm of the surreal. Why did shit like this always have to happen to him? "Sure."

"You don't look like you're interested in taking advantage of what's in front of you. Do you only want things that are completely off limits?"

"Usually that's the way it goes. Can't have Patrick therefore I want Patrick. Fuck, I wanted Patrick in the club, it's why I left."

Patrick sat down next to Gerard and bumped their shoulders together. "And now?"

Gerard leaned his head against Patrick's shoulder. "Now it all sort of clicks in place. There's no adversity. Pete's sitting there and you're sitting there, and—"

"And all you want to do is finish the drawing you were working on before we interrupted. Yeah, I can see that." Patrick sighed. "You were in the zone and we knocked you out of it." Twisting his head to the side he pressed a kiss against Gerard's throat. "Sorry," he mouthed without pulling away. "I get it, I really get it, and even Pete does, though he'll never admit it." Patrick pulled away and stood up facing Gerard. "Can't say that I'm not disappointed, but maybe another time." He brushed his lips against Gerard's before grabbing Pete and heading to the door.

After the door banged shut behind them, Gerard groaned. What kind of idiot was he? He wanted that. He'd been trying to get that for months. He had almost completely alienated his brother doing so.

Fucking indecisive, idiot, asshole.

It didn't come as a surprise when the world refused to let him sulk for any amount of time before there was a knock on the door. Again. At some godforsaken hour of the morning. What the hell? Seriously.

This time when he opened the door, he didn't do so quietly and was about to start cursing when Bob barreled right past him and stopped in his tracks looking around the empty room.

"What the fuck, Gee? I thought Pete and Patrick were up here."

"Why, you have a beef with them?"

"As a matter a fact, I do. Or I did. Were they here?" Bob was carding his fingers through his hair and leaving it in total disarray.

Gerard nodded. "They left a couple of minutes ago. You were probably coming up the elevator as they were going down." He paused. "Uh, how did you know that they were here anyway?"

"Mikey told me he gave them your room number." Bob looked… well, if Gerard was being honest, Bob looked frustrated and confused.

"Why would he do a thing like that?"

"Probably because your brother is an ass and wanted me to come up here and make a fool of myself because he knows things that he shouldn't." Again with the fingers through his hair. "I hate Mikey, just so you know. I hate Mikey a hell of a lot right now."

"Whatever you say, Bob-o-san." As if the night hadn't been surreal enough, Gerard had an obviously punchy drummer/leadsinger on his hands. "Hey, you know what will make you feel better? We can go and talk Mikey into pointing a video camera at you… wait, that would mean that Mikey might get hurt. Bad idea. Baaaaad idea. Let me think."

Thinking was not going to be something that Bob allowed Gerard to do, though. Before he even had time to formulate another sentence, Bob slammed into him and they tumbled backward, hitting the side of the bed and falling off the side in a heap.

"What the fu—"

Bob's lips landed awkwardly on Gerard's and his hands pushed him down, like he was trying to force Gerard through the floor of their room and into the room below.

Awkward is the best part. It's where things get messy. I think life is best when it's messy. It's real then. Pete's words were reverberating through Gerard's skull, traveling down his spine and pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Jesus Christ, Bob."

Bob pulled away and looked at him, blinking.

That was probably not a good thing in Gerard's opinion. Grabbing a fistful of Bob's hair, he dragged his lips back down to his and took control of their kiss, Bob groaning against his lips.

"This is going to be messy."

Bob grunted. "I don't think I care."

Grinning, Gerard turned his head so he could whisper into Bob's ear. "Messy… Messy is good."

*

5. The Epilogue or the non-gratuitous sex that is completely related to the story, but is not simultaneously.

Pete watched the lights blink down two floors before he punched the emergency stop button.

"Yeah, that explains your erratic behavior in making the elevator stop. Completely. Pete—"

Pete pressed himself against Patrick. "It does, in a way explain things." All this said right before his lips landed on the skin of Patrick's neck and biting, not hard, but hard enough to drag a gasp from Patrick and for Patrick to grab Pete by the upper arms hard and push him away.

Never deterred from his goal, Pete immediately pouted and with any luck looked like a poor kicked puppy.

"Not falling for your shit this time. I mean it. I always fall for your shit. Even when it's stupid."

"Like pushing the emergency stop button of an elevator?"

"Exactly." Patrick reached out past Pete and was about to start the elevator again, but Pete grabbed his arm.

"But think of all the fun that we could have."

"We're in an elevator."

Pete's fingers were already working on pulling Patrick's shirt out. "That's not really a valid point. An accurate observation, though. Another accurate observation would be that I have no intention of giving up, either." Pete got as close as he could to Patrick and he didn't fail to notice that Patrick wasn't really putting up a fight at all. "Goddamn it, Patrick, I missed you." The words were all jumbled and whispered against the skin of Patrick's neck, but Pete knew that Patrick understood. Patrick always understood, even when he said he didn't and left.

Patrick came back.

Patrick let him do stupid shit like stop a fucking elevator so he could press up against him and kiss the side of his neck, and bite at his lips, and grab the fabric of his shirt in his fist because what Pete really wanted to do was—

"Jesus, fuck, Pete." Patrick captured Pete's face between his hands and crushed his lips against Pete's hard. It was a rough kiss, like one of their first real kisses in an alley after a show where it smelled like piss and the brick dug into their backs as they fumbled against each other. This was like that, but better. So, so much better. It had to be because Pete knew that this was real. As real and solid as anything he'd had in his life, and there was no fucking way that he was going to let it go.

Unless he did something stupid again, which granted, was possible, but—

"You aren't allowed to leave again. Even if I do something fucking stupid. Never. Never. Patrick, I need you." And he wasn't really sure that Patrick heard him since all of this was whispered as he fell to his knees and pressed his face against Patrick's stomach, but it didn't matter. He'd said it after all.

The shallow breathing coming from Patrick as he fisted his hands in Pete's hair was really all that Pete could take. It'd been so long. Weeks. Weeks, of course, were the fucking longest things in the universe as far as Pete was concerned. But now Patrick was there in front of him, his hips thrusting forward.

Pete scrambled back up. He knew what he wanted and it was to look into Patrick's eyes. Hell just to see his face as he came. "I want to be your acolyte." He said as he shoved his hand down Patrick's pants, palming him and making him growl.

"Why do I let you do this kind of shit to me?"

"'Cause I'm Pete and you're Patrick and if our relationship wasn't as fucked up as it is we wouldn't know what to do."

Patrick's cock was heavy in Pete's hand, the feeling was sweet, but didn't last long as Patrick pulled at Pete's wrist forcing him to let go and he complied. Pulling Pete's hand up to his lips, Pete watched as Patrick's tongue darted out and licked Pete's palm and fingers. The swipes of his tongue were mesmerizing and it took Pete a moment to realize just why Patrick was licking his hand, but he was with it when Patrick shoved his hand back down.

Pete grinned. Patrick was a needy fucking bastard and he would have said so except everything was perfect. The way his head was tilted back, his mouth a little open and his breath a little wheezy. The way his hand was gripping Pete's upper arm. The way his hips jerked as Pete fisted him. It was all so fucking perfect and that was why Pete would never write a song about it.

Awkward and messy were real to life, but this was like a fucking perfect fantasy.

"Fuck, Pete. Just. Oh, God."

Pete rested his head against the crook of Patrick's neck and just breathed as Patrick moved against him. He darted his tongue out to swipe at the beads of sweat and let the salty taste of Patrick's skin burst in his mouth. He groaned and lifted his other hand up and spit in it before shoving it down his own pants. Hell if he wasn't going to get off on this too.

The smell of beer and musk filled his nostrils, but it was all Patrick and something he missed and wanted and refused to let go. Fuck the band, if they couldn't deal with him being attached to Patrick at the hip for the foreseeable future—

Patrick's hands were in his hair, pulling it until he moved and could be kissed by those lips, that mouth. The one he called his Golden Ticket. And it was for so many reasons. Pete groaned. Their lips tangled. Their breath mingled. Their teeth collided.

As close as they were, Pete could feel the moment before Patrick came. His whole body tensed, his breathing hitched, and his fingers dug into Pete's shoulders all before his hips jerked and he came in hot, sticky bursts in his pants and across Pete's hand.

As Patrick sagged between the back wall of the elevator and Pete all Pete could think about was that he'd put that look on Patrick's face. The tiny smile and the hooded eyes that were watching him. He was a man obsessed, but couldn't think of anything that he'd rather be obsessed over. The hand on his own dick sped up joined by another, and the feel of Patrick's hand on top of his, brushing the head of cock right before his own was too much, and he jerked, leaning forward and sucking in deep gulps of air as he came.

"What the fuck?"

Pete tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan. "If you need to ask—"

"No, you shit, we're moving. And neither of us pushed the button to start the elevator car again."

Pete turned his head to the side and watched the numbers on the car move down. That was probably not a good way to end a session of mind blowing make-up sex. "Fuck."

7…6….

Pete pulled his hand out of his pants and ran it up and down the leg of his jeans. It'd have to do. This was already going to be awkward.

5…4….

Patrick's shirt was still untucked which was probably a good thing all things considered even if it didn't put him at the forefront of fashion.

3….2….

They gave each other a final look. There was nothing to do about the "I just got laid in an elevator look" they both had. Or about the hickey on Patrick's neck that Pete didn't even remember putting there.

1…

Pete supposed that there were worse ways of coming out of the closet elevator than being greeted by a worried front desk clerk, three fire fighters and an elevator company technician who had the elevator box undone and wires hanging out everywhere.

He gave them one of his brightest publicity smiles while Patrick pulled his fedora down over his eyes. "Hey. Thanks for rescuing us. Though you know that we really didn't need to be rescued." He laughed and winked at the startled look on the Front Desk clerks face.